IMPORTANT ENOUGH TO DIE FOR – IMPORTANT ENOUGH TO
by GM
Summary: Missing scene for Deadly Quest - Napoleon risks his life and is injured saving Illya. Nothing is ever as easy as it seems.


**IMPORTANT ENOUGH TO DIE FOR – IMPORTANT ENOUGH TO LIVE FOR**

by

gm

Missing scene-Deadly Quest

Swallowing hard, Illya Kuryakin gripped onto the hand rests of the metal chair to which he was strapped down. For the millionth time he tugged and pulled on his bonds, more desperate than ever to free himself. Karmak had visited him frequently while awaiting his prey. Karmak – a man they had – mistakenly – left for dead. Miserably, Illya was afraid it might be the most disastrous error of his life.

At first, when he regained consciousness, Illya was informed by his kidnapper that he was bait. In an extraordinary trap, Kuryakin was bound inside a glass and metal booth that was airtight. Suspicious contrivances outside the locked door indicated this was a gas chamber of some kind.

Lurid speculations from his captor were his dubious companions. Details of the ambushes set throughout the neighborhood made Illya cold with fear at what his friend would face if he arrived for a rescue. If? Was there any doubt? In an attempt to second-guess himself, Illya tried to believe Napoleon would not fall for such an obvious trap. But in his heart he knew his foolish, heroic and dedicated partner could do nothing but willingly plunge into the jaws of death for him.

Between derisions Illya willed survival thoughts to his friend. He repeated over and over again how Solo had to save himself this time. It was not right to sacrifice his life when Kuryakin would die anyway. Causing his friend's death would be the most agonizing final moments he could imagine.

'If you are willing to die for me, moi brat, you must be willing to live for me.' It was a desperate thought that he wished through the air to his ridiculously stubborn and altruistic partner.

"I would like to offer a wager, Mister Kuryakin," the arrogant hunter taunted through the glass cage. "When your partner comes, I say he is killed within the first fifteen minutes. A normal person would not last so long. But Solo is talented."

Ignoring him, Illya fought down a chill. The thin pajamas he was wearing when kidnapped from the hospital made him feel vulnerable. Aside from being a helpless prisoner, strapped inside a gas chamber! he knew he lived at the whim of this madman. He and his partner were at the mercy of this lunatic. Years ago they thought they killed him in South America. Now he was back with a vengeance, set on killing them.

Years of festered hatred, planning and scheming their tortured deaths was a lot to overcome. But Napoleon was motivated, Illya knew. He would bet on Solo over any enemy. Karmak had rage and revenge on his side. Napoleon had his oath as a partner and friend. Illya knew Solo would come for him. And that made him more worried than sitting inside the gas chamber.

"Come, Kuryakin. What is your wager?"

Glaring at the madman, he tartly retorted, "I seem to have left my money in my other trousers."

Karmak heartily laughed. "Very good, Mister Kuryakin. Keeping a sense of humor while facing death. So like you and your partner. Do you think it will be you or I who will be laughing when I drag Solo's body in here for you to observe. I will do my best to make sure there is a breath of life left in him. That way I will have the pleasure of hiom dying before your eyes."

His face a cold mask, Illya's heat cringed at the thought. He believed Napoleon would rescue him. But how damaged would he be when he got here?

After more taunting, Illya gave his best annoyed expression and voice. "You expect him to come. Don't be so certain. UNCLE has a strict policy against bargaining with madmen."

This time Karmak's laughter was bitter. "You think I am mad? Who would not be filled with rage after what you and Solo did to me! You left me for dead in that jungle!"

That had been the mission goal. He didn't mention that to the deranged captor. Regretting they had failed that initial assignment, he now concentrated on how he could possibly escape on his own and finish the assignment now.

Face up to the glass, the enraged captor snarled, "And don't pretend Solo will allow you to die without doing everything in his power to stop the execution! I know you two would do anything for each other! Did you think I would forget your camaraderie in South America?"

There was no response to that. Without question Napoleon would come for him. He would fight, sacrifice and go through anything to rescue him. His chest twisted with anguish knowing there were no limits for Napoleon when it came to keeping him safe. It made him sick to know he could be the cause of pain, perhaps death inflicted on his friend. It was so irritating to be so predictable to the enemy.

As if a switch had been turned inside his twisted mind, Karmak was now smiling. "Come, now. Don't you think hunts are more entertaining with wagers?" He slapped his leg with the shotgun in his hand. "If Solo reaches this building, I will allow you to live, Mister Kuryakin." As if talking to himself, he amended the offer. "No, if Solo reaches this building before I kill him, then I will release you so you can go through my little survival maze."

It elicited only a glare from the agent.

Angry at the silence, the captor slammed a fist into the glass panel. "Should he reach this basement . . . ." He trailed off, narrowing his eyes at the prisoner. "Should he still be alive and reaches you – hmph," he snorted. "Then I have a dilemma. Allow you to watch him die before you die? Or allow him to watch you die, locked in this booth, and him helpless to free you. Then, of course, I will kill him, too."

Grinding his teeth, Illya stared at the door, his mind working on the problem of getting out of a hermetically sealed cage. Trying to solve the puzzle could not keep the anguish from his heart. This was a no-win trap. One or both of them would probably die this time. And he had no illusion that it could very well be his friend who perished first. Before his eyes? While trying to save him? Then Karmak would have devised the worst torture. There could be nothing more painful. It would be the fulfillment of Illya's greatest fear.

Snapping back, lashing out with the only weapon he had, Kuryakin shot back, "You think Napoleon will come after me? Do not be so certain. He knows it is a trap."

"Hah!"

Karmak did not doubt Solo would come for him. Neither did Illya.

Karmak again described his brilliant snares in the condemned neighborhood. As more death traps were defined, the Russian fought down despair. Then an alarm sounded.

With a confident smirk, Karmak turned to him. "Ah, the perimeter has been breached, Mister Kuryakin. Your white knight has arrived. Savor your last moments." He looked down at the panel outside the booth. "You are running out of time."

When the madman turned his back Illya furiously worked at his straps. He had to get out of here and warn Napoleon! But it was hopeless. There was no escape this time. For either of them.

Updates came with each of Karmak's visits – proclaiming Napoleon Solo entering the condemned neighborhood, then the abandoned old buildings where Karmak had built his maze of horror. Agonizing snippets of Napoleon's injuries and attacks were painstakingly related. He tried to ignore the taunts, but each description of wounds or defeats stung like a poisoned blade to his heart. How much could Solo endure before he succumbed to the cunning snares of the madman?

A shadow fell on the staircase. Illya watched as his ragged, wounded partner rushed into the basement. Startled at seeing Illya inside the glass booth, Solo desperately worked at opening the door.

"No!" Illya shouted. "Go!" Didn't he know Karmak expected him to come here? Cornered, this is where Napoleon would die if he didn't ignore Illya and defend himself! "Go!" Denunciations bounced from his brain to his tongue, lashing out at his ridiculously heroic friend. Obviously, already weakened from injuries that left Napoleon's clothes torn and blood soaked, a look of dazed desperation remained on his determined face. It was an expression that sent chills of terror along Illya's spine, because underneath the resolve was fear. Mirrors of the Russian's emotions intensified to a chilling crescendo. While Kuryakin shouted to Napoleon to "GO!" over and over again, Napoleon was set, indomitable. He is not going to stop. No doubt, he would do all he could to save his friend. Or die trying.

Then Karmak attacked Napoleon. As the time ticked down to the release of the gas, Napoleon fought back, then turned to free him. Finally, Napoleon wrenched open the door and worked at the wrist straps while Illya berated him. Committed, Solo paid no attention to the selfless pleas to save himself. As they fled the glass booth, Karmak came at them again. Napoleon fought back with ferociousness, and pushed Illya clear. The automatic door slammed shut when the clock ticked to an end, and poison gas filled the cage where Karmak was now trapped in his own death room. The agents watched in frozen shock as their enemy slid to the floor, dead.

They shepherded each other up the steps. Slowly. Both worn physically and emotionally, they said nothing as they reached the strange, dark room with long shadows and bizarre carnival props of archaic weapons and a guillotine. Solo flinched as they walked past the spooky and macabre fixtures. When they reached the street, Illya's eyes widened when he saw the dead cheetah. Glancing at Solo's torn, blood-smeared clothing, he was astonished.

"You had to fight that?"

Solo simply nodded.

Stopping at the end of the empty alley, Illya studied his friend in the wan cast of moonlight. Pale, exhausted, Napoleon leaned against a building. The expression was difficult to interpret. Relief, triumph, utter fatigue. He reached over and gripped Illya's neck, the blood on his cold hand moist against Illya's skin. When Solo started sliding down, Illya grabbed him and pushed him against the old bricks.

"You need to rest," he ordered.

Solo shook his head. "My car is – over – is over – by the barricades." He leaned his head back and flicked the shadow of a grin. "Bad form if I pass out during my brilliant rescue."

Concerned, Illya held onto his arm. "I can drive the car over."

Solo shook his head. "I'll be fine. Let's just take it slow."

Kuryakin kept a hold on his arm as they walked. "By the way. Thank you."

"Da, da." He squinted his eyes at his friend. "Despite your ridiculous shouting for me to leave you behind. Why did you waste your breath?"

Illya pulled him to a halt. "Why do you think? Did you expect me to sit there as the helpless bait and watch you die trying to save me?" The heat of anger blossomed quickly. Is teeth gritted, the words wrenched out with anguish. "You are always so ready to die for me!"

Shaking his head, Solo continued a slow pace toward the barricades. "You know I would never abandon you to an enemy." Somber, he stared at his friend for a moment. "I will never abandon you."

Irritation spent, Illya nodded. "I know."

Napoleon fingered the light blue sleep shirt. "Especially in your jammies. Now let's get you back to the hospital before you catch cold."

"I'm not the one who needs a hospital – Napoleon!"

The senior agent collapsed against the car and was of little help getting into the passenger side before he lost consciousness.

Pulling away, Illya glared at his slumbering friend. "Sometimes you can be so difficult to live with. Don't you understand?" he brokenly whispered. "I would rather die than have you killed trying to save me. You must stop being so willing to die for me. Live for me, Napoleon," he barely whispered. He stared at his friend for a long moment. "Unfortunately, you feel the same way."

It was the strangest hospital visit ever. Illya returned to the same hospital from which he had been kidnapped, where Napoleon had been admitted. While his friend was examined and patched up, Illya went in search of the personal effects that were left behind. Gladly he changed into real clothes, and felt much more confident wearing a turtleneck and jacket than his pajamas. In all the excitement, the staff overlooked – happily – that Kuryakin had been abducted from his bed, and no one – thankfully – suggested he be readmitted as a patient.

Napoleon was diagnosed with a mild concussion, a broken arm, numerous lacerations and bites from the cheetah claws and teeth and general cuts and bruises. Following his still unconscious friend to a room, a frantic, tall red-head confronted him.

"You must be Napoleon's friend. He sent me away - I guess it turned out all right. Except he doesn't look so good."

Perplexed, but not exactly surprised, Kuryakin assessed her. Leave it to his partner to enter a crisis and meet a stunningly beautiful and quirky woman. "Illya Kuryakin," he introduced, then gave her a nod.

"Is he going to be all right?"

"All in a night's work."

She walked along toward the elevator with him as he stepped beside the gurney carrying his friend. "He was sure worried about you."

Looking at his partner, Illya kept his face a mask of impervious control. He had imagined what Napoleon was going through. Correctly. Knowing the reverse was true of his own anxieties. From the outside, they seemed opposites. Different looks, methods, backgrounds and specialties. Casual onlookers would be surprised to understand how matched they were – and perfectly in tune when it came to the partnership.

Torn between affection and irritation at his partner's habitual sacrifices for him, Illya changed the subject. He learned the girl was an offbeat artist working in the condemned slums. Aimlessly chattering, in the manner of many of Napoleon's vapid women, Illya tuned her out. His mind could not jolt away from the terrifying events of the night. At the hospital door, he agreed to accompany Margo to her gallery opening the following night.

Continuing on with the gurney, he stayed as Solo was settled into a room. The patient was just regaining consciousness. Illya sat on the side of the bed and watched eyelids blink open, the brown eyes settling on him.

"Hey." A wavering smile brightened his distracted expression. "You okay?"

Kuryakin nodded. "Yes. Better than you."

"So tired . . . " he yawned. Eyes closing, he reached out and held onto Illya's arm. "Glad the good guys won."

"As am I," Illya whispered. "But it was very close this time, my friend."

After serious sleep and a day of brooding, Illya stood outside the hospital room and straightened his bow tie. This was a strategic visit. He had to check on his partner because he was still anxious about Napoleon's health. Possible infections in the wounds from Karmak's big cat were an issue. The visit, however, had been pushed to the last possible moment because he was irritated with Napoleon. For saving his life.

Not proud of his selfishness, Illya felt a sliver of justification. Napoleon had walked into a deadly trap, been heinously injured – could have been killed numerous times – and fought – at his extreme peril - to free him - as usual – at the last possible second!

This was not an isolated moment. Quixotically, these incidents typified a love-hate cycle of peril-rescue-peril. The life-and-death crises brought out the heroic, the gallant, even noble. All too often it was Napoleon putting his life on the line for Illya. It humbled him, made him angry, indebted and touched.

Placing his hand on the doorknob, he took in a breath, not sure how he felt toward his maddening partner at this moment. When he stepped in, Solo had his eyes closed, his bandaged arm prominently resting on his chest.

Opening his eyes, he studied Kuryakin, sizing him up and down, narrowing his eyes at the tuxedo. His frown denoted confusion. "I think one of us is overdressed for a hospital."

"How are you feeling?"

"Like I went five rounds with a jaguar."

The comment spurred Illya's illogically aggrieved feelings. Napoleon had traded places with him in the hospital only because of his foolish quest to save Kuryakin's life. While grateful, of course, his resentment surfaced. What would he do if one of these times Napoleon rescued him but did not make it out alive? Self-serving? Yes. Selfish. Yes. Yet it was the hallmark of their relationship. Their lived were important enough to each other to die for. It was made up for because they were – in each other's eyes – important enough to live for.

"It serves you right."

The eyebrows arched up and Solo's eyes narrowed. "I'm still drugged. I'm getting the impression you're mad at me."

"For rescuing me."

With a sigh, Solo gave a shrug, then winced at the movement. "You know the drill. I have no choice in these matters."

"You were nearly killed."

"So were you."

"I tried to warn you."

Solo thoughtfully pondered the actions. He nodded. "I ignored you." He rubbed his temple. "Illya, you know this will never change. It can't."

"It doesn't mean I deem it acceptable."

"Neither is the alternative," he sourly concluded. "So why are you dressed in a tux?"

"I am accompanying Margo to her gallery opening."

Solo's faced soured. He flexed his hand, squirming in irritation. Kuryakin's expression mellowed, knowing his friend was correct. They were willing to die for each other. That made the living all the better, he supposed. Just not easy. Taking pity on his friend, he offered a thin smile. He should be pleased with the results. They were both alive, and for a change, he got the girl.

**THE END**


End file.
